Ride forth with your burden of gilt,
in a fit of rage and redemption.
You are death; none can excel.
Your fealty eludes compassion.

That fateful scythe possessed with power.
The souls of your brethren sealed in your chest.
Eternal cries of the ones you ******,
forever wailing on the razor’s edge.

The one you called brother,
slain by your hand,
sold himself to power,
and corruption was born anew.

Unfolding, vitiating
more worlds then one.
The tree of life has fallen,
to this wretched blight.

The Shadow realms succumb.
In waters black they are swallowed.
And the demons fall to its lure,
now slaves to one will.

In the farthest corners of existence,
deep in the heart of the dead-lands,
riding despair, guided by dust,
what terrors await the wicked!

An audience demanded;
The King of the Dead.
A favor paid.
No answers given.

Restitution drives you now.
Concern for justice matters not,
as long as your duty remains unchanged
Salvation is but a weapon in the wrong hands.

Come to lost-light, to Angels.
A journey most twisted and perilous.
From the soaring peaks of the White City,
wait for the light to purge the shadow.

“The scribe is waiting”
words of a traitor.
An angel corrupted.
The light dimmed.

In the guise of honor,
virtue and God,
Suffer the world
the sky is now wrought.

Fire and ash welcomes your arrival,
heavens burn at the sight of you.
Kin-slayer, Executioner, Reaper,
Who is above you?

1.1 - I am unread    
        
1.2 - those letters of condolence lying on the bed    
        
1.3 - that ephemeral note initialed in red    
        
1.4 - that formal invitation for the newly wed.    
        
2.1 - A disturbed heart to caress    
        
2.2 - with words unfit to address    
        
2.3 - A tragic dusk beckons unless    
        
2.4 - here distress succeeds success.    
        
3.1 - Patience lost and passed around    
        
3.2 - anxious fell the tragedy crown    
        
3.3 - the coldest breeze brought it down    
        
3.4 - A stranger to all upon its ground.    
        
4.1 - A swindled tongue that once had said    
        
4.2 - all that bleeds will soon be dead    
        
4.3 - like the fading memory you choose to dread    
        
4.4 - A feigning heart yet to be read.    
        
5.1 - Those words of goodbye by despair led    
        
5.2 - with an ugly truth left to confess    
        
5.3 - that missive of hope which never turned to sound    
        
5.4 - still unread.

capture this fleeting joy
and bind them in memories.
not knowing what despair awaits
this morose forthcoming dependency.
condition my cold shell.

twas freedom that ached
for another day of rest.
lolling to the minutes of apathy,
sanctioned sadness ensues.

now. here. the voices play tricks.

ferrying me beyond sanctity
without appetite or stomach.
phantasm; blinding apprehension
with wisps of blackness.

hardened by sorrow
the tinker’s bells are mimed in spite
upon me, ceasing feeling.
Below, the sands drain wildly
into oceans roaring. still,
the screams of drowning souls
can be heard, similar to my own
cries, swallowing suffering
with hopes to be rid of it,
no one cares.

resigning to defeat
the weight of memories bearing heavy,
in these final few moments of quiet,
sink; down to the bottom patiently

Here we are, out of control  
eating our lips to keep us tame  
lodged in crevices  
waiting for the dark  
there are eyes spying from the skies  
when we look up they cry  

So now we are beyond control  
tying our wrists to keep us sane  
lest our hands play tricks again  
despite our frivolity, we are remembered  
as spineless worms of the under-world  
squirming here, in our own filth  

See, how we cradle hope  
sawing our ears to keep us dumb  
only lies fuel this furnace  
and yet, the congregation thrives  
lo witness, the second coming  
still only coming  

Finally control is lost
burning our legs to keep us here
in prisons with no steel or mortar
no guards or ghosts to haunt
yet we are gaunt when hope fails
nailing our knees to feed disgrace.

Under this ruthless azure
you return, crawling to me
cloaked in black, where sight is drawn
holding my wants, wrecking my tidings
your bleeding lips, your flaming hair
woo me splendid, fill me brimmed.
Caressed by your touch
forgiveness ensues
a yearning grows
revived again
by your wanton lust.
In the cold you are rigid
aching for comfort
clinging, to what I have,
to what you think of me
as you entwine
your sinuous wines
into my being and forge love,
a desire for your discourse.

In this cold I am frozen,
and here only to watch you shiver.